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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785053">Depth of Infatuation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming'>kayisdreaming</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, FYI it's not one-sided but he thinks it's one sided, Post A+ Support, Pre-Relationship, a small character study, definitely some pining, how sylvain deals (or doesn't deal) with emotions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:47:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylvain is used to having a crush.<br/>This thing with Ingrid? Definitely a crush. Probably. </p><p>OR a character study for how Sylvain deals with his feelings from Ingrid, when he realizes he <i>has</i> feelings for Ingrid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Depth of Infatuation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain was no stranger to crushes. To an extent, he was infatuated with every girl he’d ever dated. Something would grab his attention—the feel of her hair curled around his fingers, the glimmer in her eyes, the smell of her perfume. And, for a little while, that was enough. Enough to fill his senses as he whispered sweet words in her ear to woo her—and, when he was successful—enough to enjoy as he held her close and pressed kisses to her skin.</p><p>But a single sense wasn’t enough to keep fueling the fickle flames of infatuation.</p><p>He supposed it was overexposure: he buried himself in the sensation like any scholar would delve into a book, trying to overpower any undesirable feeling that might choose to linger in his mind. More potent sensations would last longer, certainly, but it all ended the same. He’d grow numb to it. It would stop drowning out the world around him. He’d get <em>bored</em>.</p><p>Sometimes there was fragment enough for him to wantthe girl to stay around, at least for a bit longer. After all, if each sensation was <em>barely </em>enough to satisfy, then multiple girls at the same time—multiple sensations to drown himself in—would be enough. And sometimes it was.</p><p>But when it wasn’t . . . well, things started to sour.</p><p>Without the feeling to sate him, he could only see the truth. The object of his affections became just like every other girl that vied for his attention. His sweet words and gentle touches meant nothing. She didn’t see Sylvain. She saw a Crest, a path to nobility, a comfortable life. Her words of affection, of love, were only for what he was, never <em>who</em>.</p><p>What was once pleasant became just another needle that dug beneath his skin.</p><p>It was nature by now. He knew the pleasure and the pain that each infatuation eventually led to. He let himself enjoy them—he <em>wasn’t </em>going to handle reality without some sort of filter—but he never let himself indulge too much. He never let himself think that this was love, never fathomed that he even <em>could </em>love. After all, if he didn’t love, then he couldn’t be hurt when things eventually turned to the inevitable.</p><p>So Sylvain was no stranger to crushes.</p><p>So when he’d turned into a bumbling fool in front of Ingrid, it hadn’t exactly <em>surprised </em>him. Sure, he flirted with her in jest—well aware she would <em>always </em>shoot him down and scold him—but he wasn’t blind. He knew Ingrid was objectively lovely. She might have been oblivious to it, but he knew guys practically drooled over her. He’d rolled his eyes at their blatant attempts to earn her affection, knowing her well enough to know they’d be shot down immediately if not skewered on her lance.</p><p>He’d been pretty good at playing competent, even. It wasn’t like it was his first time talking to a beautiful woman. It wasn’t like he hadn't been around Ingrid almost his entire life, knowing what would and would not draw her attention.</p><p>The makeup, it seemed, had slashed entirely through his competence, overpowering any way he’d become accustomed to her appearance. Her eyes (which had always been as absorbing as the finest gems, as soothing as healing magic) were emphasized all the more by the dark lines of shakily-applied eyeliner, making him want to stare into them all day just to find the source of their power. Her lips (which had always tempered his affections with an almost-perpetual frown in his direction) made him want to brush his thumb across them, just for the wax on his skin—such a pretty shade of crimson—to remind him of their feel. The smallest hint of perfume made him want to press his face right at the hollow of her throat, if only to decipher which part was Ingrid’s and which part was the influence of a floral additive.</p><p>The desire to see, to touch, to smell was not foreign to him. He was no stranger to fantasy, to craving what was not yet his. With the war, his time for such dalliances were limited, which perhaps made them all the more potent when he <em>did </em>find something distracting. A little indulgence, and the war could disappear for a short while—at least till the effect lost its potency.</p><p>But this was Ingrid.</p><p>They’d been friends before they were anything else—well, aside from him being her burden, perhaps. He valued her presence more than almost anything else in the world. She was one of very few people he knew he could rely upon on the battlefield. She was one of the even fewer people he would be willing to die to protect.</p><p>Indulging himself by pursuing her—even if only to allow himself a reprieve from the war—would inevitably ruin that. Even if he did somehow manage to woo her, he knew how it would end. Eventually, the effects of her presence would dull once more. His heart would stop thrumming when he saw her, his tongue would stop fumbling over words. He’d break her heart like he had so many others, and the friendship between them would shatter.</p><p>He valued her too much to be willing to lose her.</p><p>The solution was simple, in his mind. Since he knew the end was inevitable, he just had to endure untilthat time came to pass. He just had to indulge whenever he was near, let the feelings mix with fantasy, and it would go away just like it would if they <em>had </em>been together.</p><p>But exposure, it appeared, was the worst idea that had ever dawned in Fodlan.</p><p>Exposure revealed that it wasn’t the makeup that was the issue. Most of it sweated off by the time her training was done, and she certainly didn’t bother wearing it when they were going to battle. She was still gorgeous, and he was still a complete mess whenever he tried to have any sort of meaningful interaction with her.</p><p>Exposure made him realize just how much he wanted her eyes on him, with that twinkle of amusement that seemed to appear now every time he embarrassed himself. He wanted her to smile at him, even when he was being the biggest fool. Wanted her scent to linger in his senses long after she was gone. Wanted to be able to taste her on his tongue. Wanted to feel her skin beneath his touch.</p><p>Exposure made him realize that it wasn’t just that. It had him wondering what it would be like to get to enjoy food with her perspective, wandering the world together as they indulged in local cuisine. It had him fantasizing about what it would be like to take their horses and just ride across the country, taking in sights so different from his icy home and her parched landscape. It had him thinking about how they could eventually work together to improve the stability of their homelands, to improve it so future generations didn’t have to endure the burdens they did. It had him imagining what it would be like to stand across from her at the aisle, or perhaps with a couple redheaded, green-eyed kids hiding behind his legs as she scolded them all.</p><p>He’d expected exposure to kill the infatuation, but it only made it worse. It only made it consume him more, practically drowning him in it as he struggled to escape.</p><p>The problem was that, even in spite of the feelings that threatened to ruin him, he <em>still </em>valued what was between them. The thought of losing it was unbearable.</p><p>Because Ingrid was one of the few people in the world who saw Sylvain, <em>not</em> his Crest. She scolded him for how he acted because she worried for how the consequences would harm him—not for how his actions reflected on the other nobles. She fought alongside him because, in spite of it all, she wanted him to survive this mess—<em>him</em>, not the Crest. She valued his contributions to the army, not the potential future warriors that would bear his blood.</p><p>It was one of the many reasons why he loved her so.</p><p>Yes, that was it. The infatuation never died because it <em>wasn’t </em>as simple as a stupid crush. He didn’t care for her because of the multitude of sensations that her presence might provide to dull existence—no, it was because of everything that made Ingrid who she was. Every smile, every chide, every belief—he loved it. He loved it all, and his body physically could not reconcile with that impossibility every time he was in her presence.</p><p>She was the greatest essence in the universe, and he was Sylvain Gautier.</p><p>To court him would be to court disaster. Even if his absolute adoration for her was overwhelming and permanent, he knew his habits. He knew he would find some excuse to run, some means of obliterating whatever built between them. He’d ruin everything—not because he wanted to, but because that was just who Sylvain was.</p><p>And he loved her too much to do that to her.</p><p>So he would fight alongside her. He would smile as she chided him. He would do anything that might ease the burdens upon her. He would die for her, if the situation ever required it.</p><p>But he would never, <em>ever</em>, tell her. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, please feel free to reach out to me on Twitter!  <a href="https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming">@kayisdreaming </a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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